Little Brother
by eris.stormborn
Summary: Jaime looks back on a childhood memory of Tyrion. Set in A Storm of Swords, and contains spoilers from that book. Oneshot.


Laughter, bitter and acidic and unbidden, bubbled up through Jaime's chapped lips from the pit of his stomach. _Gods_, he though, _I suppose this is my punishment_. The stone floor was damp and cold, and seeped through the thin fabric of Jaime's cotton breeches. Carefully, Jaime stretched his legs out before his body and rubbed away the soreness in his knees with his one hand. A dull ache, ever persistent, nagged at his phantom fingers. None of it mattered, though. Nothing mattered anymore.

Tyrion's face swam through Jaime's blurred vision, terrible and cruel and hacked all to pieces. Jaime forced himself to imagine it- to imagine that face and that stunted body killing his eldest son, but try as he might, he could not. Jaime cursed himself silently, running his hand over the stubbly hair growing on the top of his head. He had his confession, directly from that cursed little mouth. A sensation of guilt nagged at Jaime's stomach, making him rest his head back against the slick stone wall and close his eyes. He ought to feel sad, he thought. Angry, even. He should have wanted to avenge his eldest son's death and slay Tyrion himself... But all Jaime felt was empty. Again, Jaime tried to imagine him slipping poison into Joff's wine. Each time he tried to picture Tyrion, his ruined, ugly face gave way to the smooth innocence of his youth, and Jaime was suddenly face to face with his child brother.

_"Isn't it too heavy to lift? It looks very heavy."_

_"It's supposed to be heavy, Tyrion."_

_Try as he might, Jaime could not keep the acid out of his voice. For over and hour Jaime had been trying to practice- the master at arms had finally allowed him to use dulled steel. Tyrion had watched in silence at first, sitting on a wooden crate at the edge of the field with his stubby legs dangling over the edge. Before long, Tyrion got to talking, like he always did. The summer wind rustled Jaime's golden curls as he slashed at the air, waiting for his next opponent. _

_"Why is it supposed to be heavy?"_

_With a sigh, Jaime cut at the air in a wide stroke, turning for half a moment to face his little brother. _

_"So I get stronger."_

_"You're strong already."_

_"I said stronger, Tryion. Don't you have something else to do? You know you're not supposed to be out here."_

_Jaime dug the point of the sword into the dirt and leaned lightly on the hilt, facing Tyrion while he caught his breath. The boy's face crumpled with disappointment, and for a moment Jaime felt guilty. _

_"Can't I stay just a little longer? I want to watch you fight."_

_Jaime sighed and feigned annoyance at the boy's request, but he did not respond. He only turned his back to Tyrion and slashed at his imaginary opponent, and for once Tyrion kept quiet. For some time they stayed like that, Jaime fighting and Tyrion watching him with open admiration. When Jaime's muscles burned and threatened to betray him, he put his sword down and crossed the yard to where Tyrion sat._

_"You fight so well, Jaime. You'll be a brave knight some day, I know it. Just like in the stories."_

_Jaime looked down at Tyrion's beaming face and barely bit back a smile at the boy's words._

_"Come on, then. Get a stick. I'll teach you."_

_The boy's mismatched eyes grew wide, and in a heartbeat he jumped down from the crate and ran on stunted legs to a tree in the far corner of the yard. Jaime turned and picked his sword up again, and brushed his thick curls back with his free hand. After a moment, Tyrion came waddling back with a stick in his little hand, and a determined look on his face._

_"Ok, I'm ready."_

_"Alright. Here, stand like this and hold your sword out." Jaime stood in a fighting stance and extended his sword, glancing over at Tyrion to make sure he followed. "There, good. Here, follow what I do." Jaime slashed at the air slowly, demonstrating a few simple moves. The boy zealously cut at the air with his stick, audibly whipping it to and fro. Laughter bubbled to Jaime's mouth, but he swallowed it back down. It wouldn't do to mock him. _

_"What are you doing?"_

_Jaime spun on his heels at the voice, butterflies rising in his stomach. Cersei stood at the edge of the field, her long golden hair fluttering prettily in the breeze. Her face was set into a grimace that only served to make her all the more beautiful, and for a moment Jaime was blinded._

_"Jaime's teaching me to fight!"_

_Jaime's eyes snapped away from his twin to the boy at his side, who was beaming proudly at his sister. Stupid innocent fool, Jaime though. Cersei would not be so kind to the boy as Jaime had._

_"Don't be stupid, you'll never fight like Jaime. Jaime's a man, you're nothing but a dwarf."_

_"Cersei, don't..."_

_"Jaime."_

_Her green eyes flashed, daring Jaime to question her. He did not, as she knew he wouldn't. Silently, Jaime put his heavy steel sword down and crossed the yard to Cersei's side, offering his arm to her. She snaked her arm through his, and Jaime inhaled the scent of her perfumes as he glanced back where Tyrion stood, still clutching his stick with tears in his eyes. Without a second look, Cersei lead Jaime away from the scene, and Jaime tried to forget the sad look on his little brother's face._

Laughter came to Jaime's lips again, spilling over in sporadic bursts. He realized he must have seemed half mad, sitting all alone in the dungeons of the red keep with those sorry sounds falling from his mouth. He let his son's murderer leave, they would say if they ever found out. But Jaime didn't care. To him, Tyrion would always be the ugly little boy with mismatched eyes that only wanted to be a knight like his big brother. Carefully, Jaime flexed his aching feet and let his eyes slide open, and he considered with poison in his belly how different things might have been if only he had stayed to teach Tyrion how to fight.


End file.
